


Unstoppable Until I Break

by The_Mouse_of_Anon



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Discrimination, Fictional Racism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In-universe slurs, Mentioned child abandonment, Off-screen Character Death, Violence, jumping back and forth between present and past, occasional use of Atlantean language, past life-threatening illness, sea-nazis, this sounds really dark but I promise there are bright points to balance it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 17:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mouse_of_Anon/pseuds/The_Mouse_of_Anon
Summary: La’gaan has survived and endured through more than most, but when a hostage situation in Atlantis means he may have to save a living nightmare, he is left with his thoughts and the question of just how far he is willing to go…





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This lovely/brutal La’gaan-centric fic was begun for yjficexchange‘s Mini Big Bang on tumblr back in 2017. I met that deadline for the first part, but the second part took me until August 6, 2019 to complete. So if this is the first time you've run across any part of this fic, congrats! You get to read it without the long-as-hell delay that some have.
> 
> Parts of this fic would not be possible without insuffera6le6itch‘s fics on tumblr to lay the groundwork for how I headcanon La’gaan’s past beyond what little we’ve been given in the show and comics, and there are several points and lines inspired by or borrowed from her works directly. Aurelius, Kai, and Galeo all belong to her. She has my deepest thanks for her amazing works, for her permission to use characters and concepts, for conversations that helped me fine-tune things, and she and captainjerkface both have my thanks for _that_ headcanon. (To my readers, if you don’t know it already, you’ll find out just how brutal it is when you get there.) I highly recommend looking up captainjerkface and insuffera6le6itch and their works on tumblr, as they've both created amazing La'gaan-centric works.
> 
> For the sake of Spanish speakers, know that ‘migas‘ is the canon Atlantean word for ‘impure,’ so when you run into that word it isn’t what immediately comes to mind.
> 
> For anyone who would prefer to read this on tumblr, you can find part 1 here--  
https://fire-fira.tumblr.com/post/162052897000/unstoppable-until-i-break  
\--which has the link to part 2 close to the top.
> 
> And for anyone who wants to look deeper into the Atlantean in this fic, you can look here--  
https://fishpunsarelife.tumblr.com/atlantean  
\--on my La'gaan blog for the Atlantean Dictionary I've compiled (which is a mix of what little there is of canon and my expansions of it).
> 
> So without further ado, I give you _Unstoppable Until I Break_.

It was a routine mission briefing; a hostage situation in Atlantis, routine procedure required, get in and get the hostages out as needed, even if there was the possibility that it might take several days. That was it. That’s all it should have been. And then Kaldur dropped the bomb: the son of the consul magistrate of Poseidonis was one of the hostages. For La’gaan anything else that had been said was drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He may have looked like he was paying attention, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t even needed to hear the name to know who the consul’s son was— and the idea of being put in a position where he would be required to save that pile of festering shark bait was enough to make him feel sick.

The moment Kaldur dismissed them to pack in preparation to leave early the next morning, La’gaan stalked out and headed for his room. The training room would have been preferable, at least then he wouldn’t feel any remorse about breaking anything, but he didn’t want anyone seeing him explode. He didn’t even bother processing if any of the others followed him down the hall. There was just the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

His door closed. He had enough sense to turn to the console next to his door to lock it and turn on the sound-proofing. A moment. Two.

“_Ekstassa enthegias!_” His words were punctuated by a resounding boom as he punched the wall. The vibration had to be felt out in the hall, soundproofing notwithstanding. That the dent in the wall wasn’t a hole was nothing short of a miracle. He breathed heavily, thin-lipped with his nose flaring and his fins bristling with rage, trying to fight back the urge to have a screaming rant or start breaking everything in his room.

_He_ wasn’t worth it. Destroying everything he had taken so long to build and accumulate, when before the Conservatory La’gaan had come from nothing, would only make things worse. He pulled away from the wall and walked across the room to scoop up one of his various projects from his work table— a spear-hook carved from whale bone that he had slowly been inlaying with pearl and abalone shell— and flopped onto the nearby chair. If he had ever needed to give his hands something to do to help him calm down, this was one of those moments. Although the idea of using the spear-hook on Ronal was tempting…

La’gaan set to work sharpening the hook and making the outer edge serrated.

***

La’gaan had always been marked as being from one of the outer provinces of Atlantis. It was obvious in the way he spoke, how he carried himself, and how self-sufficient he had always insisted on being— to say nothing of how he looked. What he never told anyone at the Conservatory was that he was from The Bones; a province worth almost nothing and so far out on the borders of Atlantis that it might as well have been forgotten. Depending on who a person talked to it might even be said that The Bones wasn’t part of Atlantis at all, never mind the fact that it had been at the edge of the original continent before it sank. It was the sort of place that was regarded as the realm of the dead, the dying, and the unwanted. It was the sort of place the purists wanted wiped off the map, and every inhabitant along with it.

Though he couldn’t hide the fact that he was from one of the outer provinces, La’gaan had done everything he could to hide the fact that he was from The Bones. With how he looked he had known that he’d face plenty of harassment; having where he came from known would have been worse.

So when he heard an off-hand comment pitched so he could hear it on his way to class, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t surprised to hear the words, “Looks like the Conservatory is going down in quality. I wasn’t aware they would allow a _tursus_ in,” but the slur stung all the same.

He drifted to a stop, his fins bristling, wanting to turn and tear into the bottom-sucking hagfish, but he knew he shouldn’t. La’gaan _knew_ that if he got into it he would only invite more trouble. He knew—

“Ohhh, looks like an impure guppy lost his way. Do you think it overheard me? Hey tursus, if you can hear me you should leave. We don’t need _your_ kind at the Conservatory,” the smug tone called out. Again that slur, and the even worse slur of ‘impure.’

_‘Fuck it.’_ One moment La’gaan was still, and the next he spun around and launched himself at the smirking blond bastard, the water around them churning into froth.

***

That incident had been just one of many encounters with Ronal, and while the outcome of the fight had been a small victory it had been a short-lived one. A brief smirk flickered over his face as he tested the edge he was sharpening on the spear-hook with his thumb; the memory of the fight was still satisfying even after all these years. The impact of his fist connecting with Ronal’s face, instinctively manipulating the water to hit Ronal from multiple directions, the satisfaction of successfully dodging most of the hits Ronal aimed at him, the sensation of his claws slicing down Ronal’s face, the small plume of red and the smell of blood in the water… 

La’gaan had gotten in trouble for it of course (it was generally frowned on for Conservatory students to get into fights outside of combative magic classes), but it didn’t erase the satisfaction he’d gotten from serving Ronal’s non-existent tailfin to him on a silver platter— especially since he’d been 10 at the time and Ronal had been 15. It was just unfortunate Ronal learned from that incident to not underestimate him. La’gaan learned the hard way that someone who hated but didn’t underestimate him was far more dangerous than one who did.

The edge of the hook didn’t feel sharp enough yet.

***

La’gaan hadn’t been at the Conservatory long, certainly not long enough to have gotten friends in his opinion, but here he was in Lori’s dorm, perched on the edge of Lori’s sleeping pod with Lori fussing over his bruises, split lip, and the various small cuts he’d gotten during the fight. Blubber floated nearby, wanting to help but feeling useless because his bulk made the necessary fine-detail movements of patching up La’gaan almost impossible.

“That was reckless,” Lori said. She had at least waited to start throwing recriminations at him for having even gotten into the fight until they got into her room, but that hadn’t stopped her from scolding him after she saw him swim past the infirmary wing of the Conservatory just as she had been coming out from one of her classes. Almost everyone in the Conservatory had to take beginning-level medical classes, the idea being that if everyone knew first aid then if an accident happened the damage could be minimized. Lori had taken more of an interest than most. There had been some debate, but she hadn’t been able to argue him into actually going into the infirmary; the compromise was letting her patch him up in her room.

“The shark-bait had it coming,” La’gaan retorted.

“La’gaan, you picked a fight with the consul magistrate’s _son_.”

“He could have been the Neptune-damned prince and I wouldn’t have cared! _He deserved it_,” he snapped. He had no idea who or what a consul magistrate was, and he didn’t really care. What mattered was that the pale glowing-hagfish paid for what he’d said, regardless of whose son he was.

Lori frowned and her hands stilled. “…La’gaan, I don’t think you get it. The consul magistrates have _a lot_ of power. Ronal’s mother is the consul magistrate of Poseidonis, which makes her the most powerful of the consul magistrates. I know you’re from the outer provinces so you don’t get how bad that can be for you, but _listen to me_: If Ronal takes it to her and she decides she doesn’t like you then she can make things really bad for you.”

La’gaan huffed, a small current of water escaping his mouth in forceful puff. “You didn’t hear what he _said_,” he said in a tone close to a growl.

Lori looked torn between wanting to glare at La’gaan and being worried. “La’_gaan_… I’ve heard it all before. Blubber’s heard it all before. When you’re like we are, especially here in Poseidonis, you don’t want attention. There are bad people who will hurt you if you fight them. And if you get into a bad enough fight with someone ‘pure’ then it won’t matter what you say, because the city guards will almost always side with someone ‘pure’ over one of us.”

“So what? I’m supposed to just _ignore_ it? Just put up with someone treating me like _hagfish-bait_?!” he said, slipping into a snarl. Lori’s lips pressed into a thin line of frustrated concern.

Blubber finally spoke up, though he was fidgeting uncomfortably— unsurprising considering the fact that La’gaan tried to keep his temper in check around them. “Things are different in the outer provinces. Here… there aren’t a lot of us. Bad things can happen if we’re not careful. My papa once told me that we have to look out for each other, that someone who fights too hard can make a lot of powerful people angry, and if they’re angry enough…” His voice dwindled to nothing as he looked down.

“…If they’re angry enough then we die,” Lori finished quietly.

La’gaan scowled, the water churning angrily around him for a moment or two thanks to a brief spike of magic in response to his mood. “…If the ekstassa couldn’t kill me, I don’t think they can.”

Ekstassa was a word from the outer provinces for an illness, a wasting disease that led to cracked and bleeding skin, blood seeping from under scales, body-wracking coughs, exhaustion, near-constant pain, and (in some) even seizures. It almost always only happened when someone couldn’t get enough food or the right kind, or if the person had already been sick with something else. It was more than just starvation or malnutrition, it was a sickness that waited for an opportunity like an octopus waiting around the edges to steal a kill. Even worse, it was contagious and could be spread to anyone who came near enough to someone who had it. And since it was an illness that required something else to be wrong, it was also almost always fatal.

Neither Lori or Blubber knew what to say.

***

Sometimes La’gaan almost wished that he’d had enough sense to listen to Lori and Blubber’s warnings. If he had, then it was entirely possible that he wouldn’t have gone through as much as he had at Ronal’s hands. On the other hand, if he’d tried to keep his head down the way Lori and Blubber recommended then things might have turned out worse— especially for everyone else who wasn’t ‘pure’ around him.

He turned the spear-hook over in his hands and looked along the edge, checking for rough patches that would impede the sharpness of it. He wanted it to be smooth and sharp enough along the outside edge that even after he added the serrations it would glide through the water like one of Artemis’s arrows through the air. With a frown he noticed that the inlaid pearl and abalone shell already in place would have to be temporarily removed in order to create the serrations the way he wanted.

“Damn it,” he grumbled before reaching for a tool on his work table that vaguely resembled an awl. He hated backtracking on his projects, but that’s what came from changing the design. Originally La’gaan wanted to make something closer to what he remembered of the spear-hooks his father used to make, albeit a little more elaborate— light and efficient and able to sheer through flesh like water and then catch in place— but now… While he was trying to tell himself that he wouldn’t actually use it on Ronal, didn’t truly want to, he couldn’t deny that he was altering it so that if used it would inflict maximum damage.

The first pearl came free in his hand, carefully pried from its setting.

***

After the fight, word had quickly spread that Ronal had had his ass handed to him by a ten-year-old. Other students eyed La’gaan with more respect, having gotten the clear message that this young trench-swimmer wasn’t to be messed with, and at the same time it was as if a lot of the other kisegra— the ‘non-pure’— relaxed a little more than usual. Despite that, it was obvious to some that it was only a matter of time before Ronal tried something; they watched him warily.

La’gaan, on the other hand, largely had felt the matter was over and done with. True, he’d gotten in trouble for the fight, but when nothing more than a standard punishment resulted from it (several weeks of having to help work on maintaining the Conservatory by prying off barnacles from the exterior walls and the like), he had just shrugged it off. It was only about as annoying as trying to hunt a crab hiding in coral and he’d done that enough in his short life for it to not matter all that much; plus, it gave him the excuse to temporarily put aside his more infuriating studies and focus on something practical. In all honesty he would have never imagined that doing something he’d once done just for survival would be relaxing. He wasn’t about to admit it to anyone else though. He didn’t want to give anyone any fuel for calling him a backwater trench-swimmer if he could help it.

As such, he was thoroughly engrossed in chiseling barnacles off the wall when several ‘pure’ students happened to swim by with Ronal among them. “Oh look, it’s actually being useful,” Ronal sneered.

“Ronal, stop. You just got in trouble over this-” one of the others hissed only to get ignored.

“I bet it feels _good_ to actually be _useful_ for once. Instead of being the bottom-scraping sava-”

La’gaan finally snapped his head around to glare at Ronal as he snarled out, “You might want to rethink picking a fight with me, _chum_. I seem to recall last time you were _shark bait_ next to me.” He pointed the chisel in his hand at Ronal. “As much as you want to act like you’re ‘better’ than me because of how Neptune-damned ‘pure’ you are, you’re lower than shark shit. You want to act like you’re superior— then explain why you’re scared of facing me alone. You can’t, and you won’t, because you’re so damned scared that I’m ‘savage’ enough that I’ll use this chisel on your _face_.”

The other ‘pure’ students were shocked, their expressions ranging from disbelief to anger. Ronal narrowed his eyes. “You’d better watch yourself, you little _tursus_. Someone might think you’re getting a little too full of yourself and might decide to beat it out of you.”

La’gaan snorted. “In all the deeps it won’t be you. Keep swimming shark bait. Maybe if you swim far enough you’ll realize that there are some fights _you can’t win_.”

For a moment Ronal looked like he wanted to throw himself at La’gaan, but the one who had tried to talk him down placed a hand on his arm and muttered, “Come on Ronal. He’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

Ronal continued glaring at La’gaan for a moment or two before he sneered, “You got lucky this time _migas_. Next time you won’t be so lucky.” With that he turned and swam away angrily with the others in his wake.

It was only after they were out of sight that how dangerous the situation had been hit La’gaan full-force. He’d been alone with them— _completely_ alone— and had it gone differently it might have been seven against one. And that slur again, freely used without any of those ‘pure’ bastards speaking up to protest how casually Ronal called him ‘impure,’ was all the more proof that if things had turned physical then La’gaan wouldn’t have had much of a chance against them. And if things had gone too far? If they had actually killed him? La’gaan didn’t think they would have let his body be found. There were plenty of predators out in the deeps that would have considered him a small snack. As he turned back to chiseling the barnacles off the wall, he tried to ignore the way he was trembling.

***

That was the first time La’gaan had actually felt afraid while he was at the Conservatory. It wasn’t a feeling he’d enjoyed. Where others reacted to that fear by withdrawing and trying to draw as little attention to themselves as possible, La’gaan reacted with a refusal to tolerate being treated as ‘less than,’ fueled and reinforced by an uncompromising rage. From his perspective, if he had to feel afraid at all it was better to channel it all into anger rather than fear. With anger there was strength, there was the ability and willingness to push back when he got pushed; with fear there was only paralysis and feeling like an even bigger target. So every time he got pushed, he pushed back; he would snarl, be more than willing to get into a fight if given enough reason to, and would _not_ back down whenever Ronal or anyone else tried to start a fight with him. Really, it was amazing that he didn’t get expelled.

It was only now, with the perspective of the years behind him, that it occurred to him that the main reason probably at least in part had to do with the fact that the queen herself was the person behind his being able to attend to Conservatory in the first place. He didn’t like thinking about it, but if Mera hadn’t picked him up off the street then it was unlikely that he would have ever been allowed entrance. The thought that he’d been kept as a student rather than expelled outright due to Mera’s influence alone was one that had crossed his mind before, but it was one he didn’t care to accept. As it was, he’d been fortunate that even now only a few people knew about Mera’s role in his education. Had Ronal or any of the other purists known, they would have used it as just one more way to attack him— because when they had realized that attacking him one-on-one directly wasn’t going to work, they started getting creative.

The first of the serrations was taking on a sturdy but sharp point under his hands.

***

La’gaan had been wary about others since even before he’d arrived at the Conservatory, and with good reason. However, despite himself La’gaan had slowly accumulated a small group of friends— most of them for some reason pulled in by the fact that he refused to back down when attacked and he’d been developing a habit of getting involved when others were being harassed. Lori and Blubber each, for all that they were much more toned down than he was, had something of a fearless streak (or else they were able to tell the difference between La’gaan’s occasionally snarly disposition and that of people who were genuinely mean before they ever really started talking to him), so it made sense that they had been the first to get close to him. 

Then there had been the fact that a kamala (what the purists might refer to as ‘half-pure’ or ‘half-breed’) by the name of Kaldur’ahm had taken to backing him up in some of his fights. La’gaan hadn’t known what to think of that; both because there were plenty of kamala who were hostile to other kisegra because it put distance between them and the ‘less pure,’ and because it hadn’t taken long for La’gaan to find out that Kaldur’ahm was dangerously close to being the adopted son of Mera and Orin. The only thing that had led La’gaan to truly start relaxing around Kaldur’ahm was that in response to La’gaan’s sarcastic comment about Kaldur being a ‘prince’ when he’d found out, Kaldur had frowned and retorted with, “If you call me that then you are going to force me to drop out or else you might start a war. And while I do find it admirable that you do not tolerate mistreatment of yourself or others, starting a war would be excessive.” (It was thanks to that that La’gaan found out about Kaldur’s subtle, but devious, sense of humor.)

Even more unexpected were A’lansha and Tula, two of the ‘pure’ who seemed to have followed in Kaldur’ahm’s wake when it came to backing up La’gaan. In a lot of ways Tula was a lot like Lori, even if she was a little less subdued. La’gaan firmly decided he liked her the day Tula went on a frustrated rant about how she wished that all “egotistical bigoted ‘pure’ floating piles of garbage” would be stupid enough to swim into the jaws of an a’lansha. A’lansha, more frequently known as Garth, found the prospect mildly disgusting even though he’d known Tula had been referring to the hyper-intelligent (and frequently obnoxious) sharks that were his namesake rather than him—especially since he seemed to share their king’s ability with communicating with fish and the like, and just a few days prior had spent close to two hours arguing with one to try to get it to stop lurking around the edges of the Conservatory grounds and making people nervous. Apparently he felt that every a’lansha he’d ever run into had a sick sense of humor and weren’t fit for polite company. La’gaan was more amazed that Garth had even gotten an a’lansha to listen to him in the first place. (It was no secret that if any a’lansha had hands they would be even more infuriating than they already were, when they weren’t actually a threat. It made La’gaan wonder in silence what in all the deeps Garth’s parents had been thinking when they named him for the sharks.) While at times La’gaan didn’t know quite what to think about A’lansha, his well-meaning but occasionally exasperated demeanor resonated with him in a way that he would have never expected to share in common with one of the ‘pure.’ That, and his banter with Kaldur quickly became a source of amusement for La’gaan.

Then there was Topo; quiet, calm, kind-hearted Topo who just wanted peace and quiet and for everyone to get along. Of all the kisegra in the Conservatory he was one of the least human-looking (at the very least he was a close second to Blubber), and he was hyper-aware of it. While Lori and Blubber were each from the inner provinces, Topo was from Poseidonis itself. If Lori and Blubber tried to encourage La’gaan to keep his head down because of the bad things they had heard could happen, Topo kept his head down because of the things he knew and had _seen_ happen. He was so quiet and skilled at fading into the background in fact, that La’gaan had honestly been surprised when Topo drifted his direction with increasing frequency. Truth be told, La’gaan had honestly been concerned that he would scare Topo off just by being himself, that he was too intimidating for Topo to feel safe around— and while he wouldn’t admit it aloud, to a certain extent that thought had stung. He knew what people who were actual threats were like, so the idea that he might be seen that way by someone he didn’t wish any harm to was an uncomfortable one. It turned out that Topo had no such problems. Yes, Topo had been quiet and cautious at first, but after hanging around La’gaan for a few months he started deliberately seeking out his snarly friend and lit up whenever he saw La’gaan. Then again, La’gaan also turned out to be one of the few who had no problem with listening to Topo ramble on and on about something he was interested in (even if sometimes it floated over his head).

“I’m telling you, if you look back at the history and do some real digging Aesal’s actions are weird. Not bad, just weird. I mean he deliberately made Thahselphus and Ahm’tashera angry _right before_ the Klii’ehdal Ball, and then went and hid in a storage pod for an hour before he eventually came drifting out dressed in Consul Theafla’s over-the-top clothes and started pretending to flirt at _both_ of them so that they would get in a fight in front of everyone— _just_ to prove how unfit either of them was to inherit the throne. And he _knew_ he himself would never even be considered!” Topo enthused. The two of them were out beyond the Conservatory grounds with their odd mixed group of friends during their mid-day break from classes and eating lunch. Well, La’gaan, Lori, Blubber, Kaldur’ahm, Tula, and Garth were eating lunch while Topo was going on about one of the more bizarre incidents in Atlantean history between random bites.

La’gaan snorted after he finished a bite and said, “Sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”

“That’s just the thing, it _wasn’t_ for nothing; it actually _worked_. It was just one of the most completely overdone things he could have possibly done! Do you realize how completely unnecessary it was for him to deliberately pick a fight with both of them before turning around and disguising himself in the most _overdone way possible_ and then go back and start flirting at them so they would get in a fight over him? _And they fell for it!_ Somehow they looked at those clothes— and every piece ever done of Consul Theafla’s clothing choices just look waaaayyyy overdone, like some type of land-dweller overdone— and they apparently thought ‘Oh she looks pretty and she likes me’ enough to the point that they _got in a fight over him in front of everyone._ And he was their distant cousin! And they didn’t even recognize him!”

“I’ve seen pictures of those clothes. They were _so_ bad,” Lori agreed.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘atrocious’,” Blubber added.

A quiet laugh erupted from Garth and he muttered, “Note to self: If I ever want to avoid obnoxious politicians I just need to borrow the clothes of some Consul who dresses atrociously.”

“Garth, you may be pretty, but you’re not that pretty,” Tula teased.

“Lies. I’ve seen portraits of Aesal. If he can pull it off, so can I.”

“But why would you even _want to_?” La’gaan asked, torn between wanting to laugh and looking at Garth as if he’d lost his mind. Really, the more time he spent around Garth the more he had a hard time believing that Garth didn’t at least have _some_ kisegra relatives.

“Because it’s a proven way to avoid obnoxious politicians, duh,” he retorted with a grin. “You honestly think with as close to the royal family as I am that I won’t have to deal with politicians? You’re lucky. If they start trying to be a pain in the tailfin to you, you can just swim away and ignore them. Me? At the rate I’m going I need every escape route I can get.”

“As much as you go on about needing escape routes, sometimes I wonder if you really want the position we are both seeking.” Something else that hadn’t taken long for La’gaan, Lori, Blubber, and Topo to find out was that both Kaldur’ahm and Garth were being considered for becoming their king’s protégé. Tula was also up for consideration, but she hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to go through with it. Which was even more reason for La’gaan to jokingly refer to them as ‘unofficial royalty.’ Garth may have once laughingly accused La’gaan of trying to get him assassinated.

“Of course I want the position,” Garth said in mock-offense, “I just also have a strong survival instinct and a really low tolerance for others’ shark-shi-”

“_Garth._” The warning tone was simultaneous from Kaldur and Tula, to which he rolled his eyes. La’gaan knew that as their king’s potential protégés Garth, Tula, and Kaldur’ahm had to learn to be careful about their word choice and what they said, but sometimes he thought the way they had to censor themselves was completely ridiculous.

Topo had been thoughtful through the exchange, looking at Garth with narrowed eyes as he considered. Finally, just as Garth was about to say something else he probably shouldn’t, he announced, “I think Garth could pull it off. What Aesal did I mean. I think if he wanted to he could disguise himself in the same way and no one would know it was him.”

“See? Topo believes in me!”

“It’s not a matter of ‘believing’ in you chum, it’s a matter of you wanting to dodge politicians before you even get the job,” La’gaan scoffed.

“I think I heard somewhere that a politician who doesn’t want to be a politician is usually the best one for the job.”

“Okay, now both Topo _and_ Blubber are on my side. I think that says something.”

Tula rolled her eyes. “It means you’re reaching and they’re being nice to you Garth.”

Garth pretended to be wounded at the very thought. “Blubber, Topo, you wouldn’t lie to me like that, would you? If I’m going to make a fool of myself you would at least let me know when I’m not doing it convincingly?”

Solemnly laying one flipper-like hand against his chest, Blubber announced in a serious tone, “A’lansha, I promise you that if you’re ever going to make that much of a fool of yourself and you can’t pull it off convincingly I’ll let you know… after I’ve watched everything fall apart.”

Garth clutched at his chest overdramatically. “Betrayed by one of my only supporters! I’m wounded! I may not survive the night!”

Kaldur huffed, trying not to show that he was amused by Garth’s antics (though of course by now the others knew him well enough to be able to tell). “And this is why no one can take you seriously.”

“Now that’s just not-”

“Maybe that’s why the king is considering him. He puts on so much of a show that no one takes him seriously and he can blindside someone.” As helpful as the comment was, La’gaan said it in a tone that was so thoroughly amused that it was obvious that he was picking at Garth.

Pretending to be offended, Garth gave a huff and retorted, “I came out to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

“It’s official. We never should have let you have access to the internet through our computer.” Blubber was trying to look stern, but Blubber and ‘stern’ never really went well together— especially when he was dangerously close to laughing.

“Don’t put this on me and Lori!” La’gaan protested, laughter creeping in despite himself. “You’re the only Land-Lover who thought it was a good idea!”

Topo started outright cackling. “Dissension in the ranks!”

Lori gave a prim sniff (that would have been far more effective in one of the air-districts) and said, “It’s true. We Land-Lovers, except Blubber, disavow all knowledge of giving A’lansha internet access through our shared computer system.”

Kaldur arched an eyebrow. “I am beginning to think that our king was correct in his assessment that exposure to surface-cultures may have a negative impact on our minds.”

“…Are you trying to imply that I’m being _mind-controlled_? That’s a low blow,” Garth said. “...How did we get from talking about Aesal to everyone being against me again?”

Before anyone could answer (though La’gaan was tempted to throw another verbal prod at Garth), Topo set aside his lunch and floated up from where he’d been sitting. “Hold on. I’ll be right back. I need to go get the book that has a picture of the kind of thing Aesal was wearing, that way Garth will know just how far he would have to go to disguise himself like that.” Even Kaldur couldn’t completely repress a laugh at that.

Garth stared at Topo and blinked with wide eyes for a moment or two. “Why do I have the feeling even you just turned on me? I thought you believed in me!”

“I do, but you have to see this,” Topo laughed. “I’ll be right back.” And with that he swam back toward the Conservatory.

“Betrayed and abandoned!”

La’gaan shook his head. “Chum, if that’s your idea of being ‘abandoned’ then you’re worse than a guppy.”

“_Hey!_ I’ll have you know-”

The seven of them continued on like that for a while, good-naturedly teasing Garth while Lori and Tula eventually decided that if Garth by some random fluke magically became royalty that they would have to be damage control (La’gaan had initially been included up until he suggested sacrificing Garth’s enemies to the most nonsensical deity they could find), which in turn lead to Kaldur and Blubber bemoaning the fact that the two of them seemed to be the only ones in their group of friends with any sense.

Topo was taking a while, a _long_ while, to find the book he’d set off to find and then come back. After a few glances in the direction of the Conservatory with no sign of Topo each time, La’gaan pushed himself up from where he’d been sitting.

“La’gaan, are you okay?” Lori asked. She’d been developing a fine sense of when something was bothering La’gaan even when he was doing his best to hide it.

“It’s nothing. Topo’s just taking a while. Probably tearing his room apart trying to find that book or something.” The ‘and so I’m going to go check on him’ went unsaid. He didn’t feel like saying anything about his increasing sense that something was wrong just in case it turned out that Topo was perfectly fine.

A brief frown flicked across Lori’s face, but she nodded.

La’gaan swam toward the Conservatory, darting along the halls as soon as he got inside and taking the fastest route he knew of to get to Topo’s dorm. The moment he got there he didn’t even hesitate to open the door to look inside with a playful tease at the tip of his tongue— which died on his lips the moment he saw Topo wasn’t there. His room was orderly as ever (well, as orderly as Topo tended to keep it— mildly disorganized but with some sense of order that only he really knew), so La’gaan knew that if something had happened it at least wasn’t in Topo’s room. His feeling that something had gone wrong was increasing.

La’gaan closed the door after taking a deep pull of water in through his nose. Tracking something by smell was always an imprecise skill, prone to giving more of a general direction than a completely accurate one (particularly in crowded places like the Conservatory where the scents of hundreds of people freely mingled in the water only to end up muddled), but even though it was a skill that marked him as having come from the outer provinces La’gaan didn’t care and wouldn’t stop using it. It had proven too useful to let go of, and in this instance it was his best bet for finding Topo quickly. He took a moment or two circling in the empty hall like a restless shark trying to find the direction away from Topo’s room where his scent was strongest, and the moment he was certain he set off. With each minute that crept by his sense of worry was increasing; he made a distracted mental note to pay better attention to learning tracking spells in class.

He darted along, following the vague and wandering trail that had been broken by others’ paths, and he tried not to be obvious about his circling and searching for Topo’s scent once he started getting into more crowded areas. While there were a few kisegra he passed, he was reluctant to ask if they’d seen Topo— both because most of them were kamala and might be hostile, and because he didn’t want to have any of the ‘pure’ around overhear his concern— and he wasn’t about to ask anyone ‘pure’ when he didn’t know or trust them. It slowed him down more than he liked. La’gaan felt about ready to scream in frustration while crossing the Conservatory’s central courtyard when he lost Topo’s scent for what felt like the tenth time in as many strokes, _knowing_ that if he didn’t catch the scent again that he’d have to go back to restlessly circling in full view of everyone else in and around the courtyard, only to pause as he was swimming by the entrance to a cleansing room— normally reserved for getting cleaned up after intense magical or physical training and occasional student storage, and not the sort of place Topo would typically go if he could help it. A faint hint of Topo’s scent led inside, and La’gaan could feel the fins on the back of his head bristle.

La’gaan drifted in slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible while he went through the angled-down entryway and around the corner into the cleansing room itself— and what he saw on the opposite end of the room nearly made his blood boil. Topo had his back against the wall, his arms holding his book tightly against his chest as if it might protect him, and Ronal and four other ‘pure’ students were blocking Topo’s way out.

“-should be thankful we’re taking the time out of our day to let you know where you and your kind stand,” Ronal said with a sneer. “And when we’re done with you, you can take the message back to that trench-swimming _tursus_ you call your friend. Let him know _he’s next_.”

A snarl erupted from La’gaan and he could feel his magic building on reflex as the water began to churn around him. “Hey shark-shit, you want me so bad, how about you try tangling with me?” Before Ronal and his friends could fully turn, La’gaan surged across the room—backed up by a wall of water that slammed into them like a giant fist, halting just short of Topo before dissipating. It was enough. “Topo, get out of here!” La’gaan snapped as he tossed aside one of Ronal’s stunned friends. Topo hesitated for only a moment before bolting out of the room. La’gaan had never seen him swim that fast in the entire time they’d known each other.

It was a relief when Topo was out of range, it meant La’gaan no longer had to worry about catching him in the crossfire or paying attention to the fine control of magic that was always hard to manage when he was angry. It made it simple. “You wanna go after _me_ chum?! I hope you like losing,” he snarled. He talked big, but he knew five against one was bad odds; better to knock them all down a few pegs while they were stunned and then get out as soon as possible. And of course that was when the five of them turned all of their attention on him. Ronal and his friends were disoriented, but they were still trying to fight— and they didn’t appreciate that La’gaan had let their target escape. They tried to fan out around him; La’gaan had no intention of letting them get the advantage, and as they tried to grab hold of him he exploded into activity, both physical and magical.

“You little _migas_,” Ronal snarled as La’gaan planted a hard elbow into the gut of one of the others. “I’ll show you your damned place, you and all your ki—”

Ronal was abruptly cut off as La’gaan slammed him against the wall, his head bouncing off the tile with a dull ‘thunk’ muffled by the water. La’gaan drew close, water churning behind him into a wall that Ronal’s friends couldn’t get through, and he snarled out in a dangerous and low tone, “Listen here you son-of-a-hagfish, if you _ever_ go after one of my friends again, I will _personally_ hunt your ass down and show you just how fucking ‘savage’ I am. And if you _ever_ call me or anyone else that damned word ever again, you’ll get more for it than just a little scar in your eyebrow. DO NOT. _FUCK._ WITH ME.” He held Ronal in place for a moment longer, fighting his anger and the impulse to do something worse— and then, a brief flicker of a memory. Only the thought of what happened the last time he had gotten that angry, the incident that ended with him catching Queen Mera’s attention and someone ending up dead, forced him to back off. He gave Ronal one final shove before turning and channeling all of his rage into his magic to propel himself out of the room. 

He rocketed right past Topo and out above the courtyard, trying to hold back the scream building in his chest as he tried to out-swim the memory. He knew it was his imagination, he knew that _that_ incident hadn’t repeated, but La’gaan felt almost like he could taste blood in his mouth. It was as if the brief flash of that memory brought on a flood. Topo might have called after him, but La’gaan wasn’t sure. _Hurt/pain/fear/rage/loss-of-control/HATE/death_ flashed through his mind, the memory of losing control of his magic and turning it against someone overwhelming in its sudden immediacy. So close… he had come _so close_. He couldn’t— _wouldn’t_— do something like that again. _Never again._ He would never, he would never, he would never, he would never, _he would never_—

“La’gaan!” Topo had finally caught up with him, jerking him out of his thoughts. He still had his book in his arms, but his knuckles were no longer pale-gray from the tightness of his grip.

La’gaan forced himself to breathe. He hadn’t noticed that he’d temporarily stopped.

“La’gaan… are you okay?” Topo’s expression was one of concern; big black worried eyes locked on La’gaan.

“I’m…” La’gaan took a deep pull of water and shoved the memories back. “I’ll be fine. Just got a bit tense in there. Are _you_ okay?” Better to focus on Topo and make sure he was alright. Better not to even talk about the memory. Better to protect Topo from that pain.

“I’ll be okay,” Topo said. He hesitated, but finally he swam forward and hugged La’gaan tightly, surprising him into returning the hug. “Thank you.”

“For what?” The sudden surge of a relieved happiness mixed with the feelings brought on by his memories confused La’gaan, so he opted to try to ignore it.

“For getting there when you did.”

La’gaan gave a huff, trying to force in some humor to shove the memories further back. “It would have been better if I got there sooner chum. That way those hagfish-suckers wouldn’t have been able to corner you in the first place.”

Topo pulled back and made a face. “_That_ is the most disgusting insult I’ve ever heard.”

La’gaan laughed. “C’mon, let’s get back to the others. Lunch is almost over anyway.”

The two of them swam back to their friends in silence, and when Garth greeted them with, “There you are! We were wondering what was taking so long,” neither of them felt like mentioning what had happened.

“My book was hiding.” La’gaan didn’t bother correcting Topo’s statement.

***


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought part 1 was dark, be prepared for part 2 to be even worse.

Things were quiet for a long time after that, but the tension was much worse. No one said anything about what had taken place in the cleansing room; if they had, La’gaan knew he would have been expelled. Who would believe two kisegra when there were five ‘pure’ students involved? But clearly what La’gaan had done back then was too heavy a blow to the pride of Ronal and his friends for them to want to admit to. It would have been too shameful for them to admit that a kisegra had gotten into a fight with the five of them _and won_. It would have been even more shameful to admit that they had lost to an eleven-year-old when they were fifteen to seventeen. Ronal and his friends had said nothing about the incident, and La’gaan and Topo hadn’t said anything about it.

He turned the spear-hook over in his hands, looking at the edge he was altering from another angle. It wasn’t quite as streamlined as he was hoping for yet, but he still had plenty to work with to get it where he wanted without sacrificing the sturdiness of it. Of course having the outer edge serrated and leaving the other side smooth and blade-like could change the balance and the hydrodynamics of it, but he could easily restore the original balance when he reapplied the abalone shell and pearls. La’gaan flipped it back over to inspect the original placement tracks he’d been carving into the whale bone. Still potentially useful, but whether he would have to alter the path or not depended on how deep he made the serrated edge.

It was ironic really; after Topo had been cornered La’gaan had sworn to himself that he would never be the one at fault for Ronal’s death. No matter how bad things got he had been determined to never entertain the thought of killing someone. The memory of the incident that he had tried to bury, the incident that was simultaneously one of the worst and best things that had happened to him, and had led to his being able to attend the Conservatory in the first place— even though he’d had _no choice_— had been enough for him to decide that he never wanted to be in a place where kill or be killed were his only options. And yet here he was with a spear-hook in his hands, taking on an increasingly lethal shape while his mind played over the things he _wished_ he had done to Ronal back then. The phantom taste of blood ghosted on his tongue.

La’gaan shoved the thought aside— better not to think too much on inflicting that sort of harm or the idea of becoming something he would hate— and ran his thumb over the serrated edge, following the direction of the serrates. Sharp, hard, and still in need of work. There was a graininess to them that lingered from his carving. He blew a puff of air on the spear-hook to clear away some of the grit before continuing.

It was true that no one involved in that incident had said anything about what had happened, but the fact still stood that La’gaan and Topo knew what had happened to Ronal and his friends. Both of them had been living proof to the five of them that their secret and their shame were known and they couldn’t pretend it had never happened. That was probably why, when the unthinkable happened, they targeted Topo again.

***

La’gaan was twelve. Things had been going well. While things had been tense for about a year, there hadn’t been any further attacks— at least none on him or his friends. At the same time, tensions had been growing and the other kisegra had become increasingly nervous; there were whispers that there were active purists in the area and people were getting hurt, but so far there had been nothing solid. Snide remarks and the occasional slur thrown La’gaan’s direction were easy to dismiss when none of the ‘pure’ students had made an attempt to attack him or anyone around him. So despite the tensions things were good, and La’gaan had been excited when he heard that Kaldur was coming back from the surface to visit and that he was bringing a couple of his friends— Superboy and Miss Martian specifically. He had been hoping Kaldur’s visit would help alleviate some of the awkwardness since Garth and Tula had decided to start swimming together, but no such luck. 

Introductions had been easy enough, aside from the fact that Kaldur had apparently felt the need to include Ronal and Sha’ark in his introductions. While La’gaan didn’t like it, he recognized Kaldur’s efforts to not be playing favorites for what they were. Kaldur had become much more politically aware since he’d officially become the king’s protégé and had gone to the surface. As such, making sure that two of the most powerful players at the Conservatory— Ronal as the son of the consul magistrate of Poseidonis, and Nanaue Sha’ark the current vassal-king of Nanauve— had been the logical move. Others could meet the two surface-dwellers at will, which at least accounted for why their small group of friends were the only others present. Even so, La’gaan would have preferred if Ronal wasn’t there; Sha’ark either for that matter. La’gaan had rarely interacted with the young vassal-king, but he found he’d had a low tolerance for Sha’ark’s attitude of, ‘If you think kisegra are barbarians I’ll show you just how much of a Neptune-damned barbarian I am when I rip your head off, _chum_.’ It was a conflicting feeling; on one hand La’gaan understood all too well why Sha’ark was so aggressive and willing to tear into someone, but on the other hand he was a king with an enormous amount of power who didn’t seem to care if anyone weaker than him got hurt— and that reminded La’gaan entirely too much of the bastard he’d been trying to get away from when Mera found him. 

Miss Martian seemed friendly and Superboy came off as somewhat aloof. Any uncertainty La’gaan had was drowned out by his excitement. And La’gaan, as interested as he was with the surface, couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “And are you two _typical_ of the surface?” He felt like kicking himself the moment the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late. He had intended to direct it at M’gann, but she didn’t seem to notice as she quickly swam over to Lori. La’gaan didn’t know how to react to that; he’d never been outright ignored like that before.

Instead Superboy awkwardly answered, “Not exactly…”

That awkwardness dramatically increased as M’gann said, “I’ve always _loved_ mermaids!” before proceeding to take on a tail like Lori’s. “What do you think?” She clearly intended it as a compliment, but it fell flat with a discomfort that was difficult to cut through.

“I am… flattered?” Lori stammered. La’gaan couldn’t blame her for feeling awkward; the sense of M’gann shaping a tail almost like it was a costume or a _choice_ was just… There was no good way to respond, especially since she wasn’t atlantean and didn’t get it. 

Despite that, La’gaan dismissed it— he liked M’gann just based off her pleasant demeanor and it didn’t seem fair to hold it against her when she didn’t intend to offend anyone. M’gann clearly had no idea the effect her physical shift had had, so it only would have made the situation more uncomfortable to call attention to it. 

“Well, this has been… charming…” The barely contained contempt was practically dripping from Ronal’s tone as he turned to leave. “…But I should _go_.”

“What’s the matter chum? Feeling _outnumbered_?” Sha’ark sneered.

Rather than pay attention to either of them (and the fight that Sha’ark was clearly itching for) La’gaan tried to talk to M’gann again. “So what’s it _really_ like on the surface?”

“Other than drier?” Blubber added, hovering behind La’gaan. By that point La’gaan was so used to Blubber looming over him due to his massive size that he barely even noticed it happening anymore.

However, Sha’ark was _still_ spoiling for a fight and wasn’t about to let Ronal’s absence stop him. Sometimes La’gaan _really_ didn’t like the vassal-king. “And tastier. Know what I mean, chum?” Sha’ark snarled at Superboy. Before the surface-dweller could reply Garth and Tula arrived, hand-in-hand.

_‘So much for things not being awkward.’_

“Kaldur!” Garth called out happily.

“M’gann. Superboy. These are my dearest friends, Tula and Garth.” Kaldur’s tone was happy enough, but he didn’t quite succeed at hiding the way his face fell as soon as he noticed their linked hands.

Garth’s smile widened as he said, “You are both welcome in Atlantis.”

“Yes, any friend of Kaldur’s is a friend of ours!” Tula’s smile was bright and welcoming, in complete contrast with Kaldur’s discomfort.

They might have continued on like that, trying to awkwardly paddle through an increasingly uncomfortable conversation, when Topo turned up— and along with him the vague smell of burnt flesh.

Surprisingly enough, Kaldur was the first one to recognize Topo’s scent past the burnt-flesh smell. “Topo?” As soon as he spotted the younger boy he swam over to him. “Topo, I want you to meet my friends…”

Topo, who had been missing for two days, feebly tried to swim away with the shaky comment, “Uh… Maybe some other time…”

Kaldur gently caught Topo’s wrist, was about to say something else, and then his eyes went wide. “What is this? Topo! Who did this to you?!”

La’gaan had already felt like his heart sank as soon as it clicked that something had happened to Topo, that he hadn’t simply decided to visit his family for two days and absentmindedly had forgotten to tell any of them, but with Kaldur’s words the smell of burned flesh and Topo’s demeanor made entirely too much sense. The moment La’gaan was close enough to get a brief glimpse of the word carved onto Topo’s chest, it felt like his heart sank into his gut. He didn’t have to see it clearly to know what it said.

Lori took charge, gently pushing Topo ahead of her as La’gaan darted ahead and Blubber brought up the rear. “It does not concern you, Kaldur’ahm,” she said firmly. It might not have been fair for them to shut him out, but Kaldur was kamala and they weren’t— there were things he couldn’t possibly understand about what it was like for other kisegra. There were things he could risk or dare to confront that could easily result in any of them turning up dead if they did the same.

“Ah, squidboy’s chum. And chum gets what it deserves. Swallowed,” Sha’ark said contemptuously before swimming away.

La’gaan turned to dart back, ready to tear into Sha’ark— king or not— only to be brought up short by a firm hand on his elbow from Lori. He turned to look at her, furious, but she didn’t budge.

“La’gaan, not now. He’s not worth it. _We need you_.” Her eyes darted to Topo and back again and her tone dropped lower. “Blubber and I aren’t like you. We can’t fight like you do. And if we run into anyone before we can get Topo safe? Like whoever did this? …We need _you_.”

“Sha’ark just-”

“Sha’ark _doesn’t matter_,” she snapped.

La’gaan hesitated, looked from her to Topo to Blubber, and let the tension bleed out of him. She was right. As annoyed as he was at Sha’ark for writing off Topo the way he had, his rage was about whoever had carved the word _migas_ on Topo’s chest. “Your room?” His tone was quiet, subdued. There was no point in suggesting going to the infirmary until all of them had calmed down, no point until Topo felt ready to.

“I have medical supplies.”

La’gaan nodded and turned back to lead the way to Lori’s dorm. The trip was slower than any of them would have liked and it was done in silence. None of them even dared to question Topo where just anyone might overhear them.

Once they were in Lori’s room and the door was closed, she directed Topo to sit on her sleeping pod while she bustled around pulling out all of her medical supplies just in case there was anything that she might need while she worked. Blubber blocked the door with his bulk and La’gaan drifted over to the window to keep an eye out. “Topo, when did it happen?”

“Y-yesterday? No… I… d-don’t know how long…”

“You’ve been missing two days,” La’gaan said grimly.

Blubber couldn’t quite meet Topo’s eyes as he quietly said, “We thought you went to visit your family.”

Topo stared down at his feet, trying to contain his trembling. “I… I was going to the old temple… It happened two days ago.”

Lori came close, eyeing the wounds. “Can you get your shirt off? We don’t want it getting in the way.” Topo nodded, tried, but couldn’t contain the involuntary cry of pain as the burns on his chest pulled. “La’gaan, could you help Topo get his shirt off?”

La’gaan drifted closer to take a look and hesitated when he got a better look at the carved burns. Trying to shove his horror aside, he looked further up to find that past Topo’s facial tentacles the shirt was still intact on his neck. “…I’m going to have to rip it. That’s the only way without dragging what’s left over the burn. That okay?” After what Topo had been through, La’gaan didn’t want to reach for him without forewarning.

“Yeah. Okay.”

With that shaky approval, La’gaan took hold of the top edge of the hole in Topo’s shirt and carefully tore it— slowly pulling it apart with a small magical boost to his strength so he wouldn’t hurt his friend. Despite his best efforts, Topo winced anyway. “Sorry.”

“I-it’s okay. I’ll be okay.” None of them said anything about how obvious a lie that was.

As La’gaan carefully helped him get the shirt off his shoulders and freed his arms from the sleeves Lori said, “I’m going to start cleaning it up. It might hurt, okay? Let me know if I need to stop.”

Again, Topo nodded and several long moments passed with his occasional hitched breaths of pain as Lori worked. La’gaan didn’t envy him as she plucked several threads from Topo’s wounds.

“…I might not be able to cover this until later, just to make sure the wound doesn’t bind to the bandages,” she murmured. 

Though she didn’t say it, La’gaan knew (thanks to his own pursuit of healing magic) it wasn’t good if she was taking that approach. It was only after Lori had cleaned up the wounds to the best of her ability— trying to use healing magic only to find her efforts thwarted due to the fact the injury had been magic-inflicted, which left her only with more physical means— that La’gaan dared to ask, “Topo, who did this?”

Topo wouldn’t look up. His trembling kicked up a notch. It wasn’t that La’gaan wanted to force Topo to think about it, but seeing the state his friend was in he couldn’t help the wave of bubbling rage that made him want to hunt down whoever was at fault. He wanted to hunt them down and make them regret having ever put a hand on Topo.

“Who hunted you down?” No answer. Topo wouldn’t look up. La’gaan could feel a twist in his gut. “Was it Ronal?” Lori and Blubber both gasped. Topo hesitantly looked up, and though he didn’t say anything the look in his eyes was enough. “Was it more than just him?” Silence, but Topo didn’t deny it. “Was it _them_?” Topo swallowed thickly and looked away. La’gaan could feel the fins on the back of his head bristling as an enraged snarl slid onto his face. “Blubber, I’m gonna need you to move,” he said, his rage held in check, but entirely too obvious.

“La’gaan, what are you going to do?” Blubber asked nervously.

“Blubber. Please. _Move_.”

Lori nervously floated upward a little. “La’gaan, what’s this about? What does Ronal have to do with anything?”

“Ronal and his jackass _friends_ did this to Topo. The same bastards who tried cornering him before to get to me.”

“What-”

La’gaan cut Blubber off with a snarl. “A year ago. Topo took a long time getting back to us when he went looking for a book. It was because those bastards cornered him. And this time? This time I wasn’t there. _They could have killed him._ So I’m going to hunt those hagfish-sucking deep-beasts and I’m going to make them wish they _never_ touched Topo. I’m going to make those purist pieces of shark-shit think twice about ever hunting one of us again. So please _move_.”

Lori and Blubber exchanged a look while Topo shrank back. For a moment La’gaan thought they weren’t going to let him go, that they would argue that La’gaan would only risk having the same thing happen to him or that he might get himself killed, that they might argue that calling Ronal and his friends purists was too strong an accusation without proof. As such, he was surprised when Lori said, “We’re going with you. Topo, come with us so we know you’re safe. Okay?”

Topo hesitated, but nodded and started carefully pulling his shirt back on with Lori’s help.

***

That entire situation rapidly spiraled out of control. They’d confronted Ronal and his friends, it got broken up by Kaldur and the others, and four hours later Mera had been abducted by the purists and Ocean Master. La’gaan, Lori, Blubber, Topo, Garth, and Tula had been pulled in to help Kaldur, Kon, and M’gann at almost 1:00 in the morning. Sha’ark had only been prevented from biting off the head of one of the purists by Lori tail-slapping the purist out of Sha’ark’s range. It had been as Sha’ark and Lori were disagreeing over the acceptability of cannibalism that a poison or something similar dispersed in the water, tailored to affect kisegra. The last time La’gaan had felt that weak he’d been recovering from ekstassa. That weakness… that uncertainty of survival… It wasn’t something he had ever cared to feel again. And if that hadn’t been enough, though La’gaan was too out of it to be included in the final fight, afterward he got the confirmation he needed to know that Ronal had been one of the purists involved.

Ronal, who had revealed himself after Ocean Master made it clear he was trying to cause a civil war and that a war had been his motivation all along. Ronal, who had followed Ocean Master under the assumption that his goal had been to put the purists in control. Ronal who La’gaan _knew_ had had a hand in scarring Topo. Ronal, who had turned on Ocean Master due to the difference in motivation. Ronal, who had been _pardoned_ because he’d taken the Queen’s side. 

Ronal, who had been able to be convincing enough for even Lori and Topo to buy into his claims that he would never go back to the purists.

The thought made La’gaan want to be sick.

When they had heard that Ronal was pardoned, Sha’ark was ready to kill Ronal. It was the only time before or since that La’gaan had been tempted to stay back and just let him.

He dusted off the spear-hook before flipping it a couple of times in his hand, tossing it up in the air and catching it again to test its balance. It was trying to take on a spin in the direction of the un-serrated side. Lousy for maintaining the balance with the serrations— at least until he added the decorations again. It was exactly what he wanted to see. In a way, it matched exactly how he’d felt after that incident— unbalanced, but capable of inflicting damage. Perhaps that was why he had made up his mind that he was going to be the first kisegra admitted into the Royal Guard of Poseidonis; it was an effort to reassert balance and to push back against the authority Ronal might eventually have. It was an effort to block him from getting more power with the royal family.

***

“Again,” Theul demanded as La’gaan tried to right himself. The Conservatory’s Combat Master was a fair teacher, but he demanded nothing less than the best from any of his students who had any interest in being royal guards. He knew what it took, how much work had to be put in, how far he could push his students, and how much harder La’gaan had to work to prove himself.

“I can’t breathe for a minute?” the 13-year-old complained with an exhausted frustration.

“The royal family’s enemies won’t give you that chance La’gaan. You have to be ready. Now right yourself and try it again.” In many ways Theul reminded La’gaan of Aurelius, the adoptive father he’d had for three all too short years— at least in terms of how firm and patient he could be, along with the unshakeable belief that La’gaan was entirely capable of proving himself to be among the best. In other ways he was an infuriating hardass who kept pushing when La’gaan felt ready to scream.

La’gaan finally righted himself with a ragged sigh. “I’m sure some people consider this torture.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Theul’s lips before the Combat Master could help himself. “Need I remind you that you’re the bold guppy who hunted me down and demanded to be trained to enter the Royal Guard? If this is torture, it’s a torture you signed up for all on your own.”

La’gaan scowled. Initially he had been cautious about bantering with Theul due to the fact that the old man was ‘pure’ in addition to having been close to 300 and having trained all of the current royal guards, but after having been his student for almost a year that caution had worn off. “I didn’t think you’d say yes. I’m still not sure if you’re trying to drive me off.”

“If I wanted to drive you off, then I never would have taken you as a student. I challenge you because you’re more than capable of it. Now, again! I won’t repeat myself another time.”

La’gaan darted forward, yet again trying to get through Theul’s defenses and carefully getting blocked at every turn. Several rounds later La’gaan sprawled in an exhausted heap and had sunk to the floor of the training arena below. 

Theul allowed himself to float down and, in a display of complete disregard for the decorum of someone of his station, sat on the floor near La’gaan as if he was a man a tenth of his age. “Now then, tell me what you did wrong.”

“I died.”

That startled a brief laugh from Theul. “_Besides_ that, child. You were being…”

“Too predictable,” La’gaan groaned as he draped an arm over his eyes.

“And we…?”

“‘Memorize the forms when we don’t know how to fight. When we know how to fight, we move beyond the forms as needed’,” he recited.

“So what did you do?”

“…Tried to stick to the form when I should’ve just gone for your face.”

“But you know that wouldn’t have worked because…?”

La’gaan gave an aggravated sigh before reciting, “‘Even when moving beyond the forms we need to control our attacks’.”

Though La’gaan couldn’t see the old man’s smile, he could hear how pleased he was as he said, “Good. You’re learning. When you’re ready, go get yourself something to eat and then get on your studies. This training session is dismissed.”

La’gaan lifted his arm so he could aim a dubious look at Theul. “That’s it?”

Theul looked decidedly amused, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried and failed to repress a smile. “La’gaan, you already train more than any other student I’ve had. So unless you want to _continue_ ‘torturing’ yourself, then that’s it for today.”

La’gaan considered arguing or complaining, came up with a blank, and settled for letting his arm drop back down as he gave an overdramatic groan instead. Theul only chuckled before getting up and swimming away. La’gaan laid there for a while longer, his exhaustion dragging at his limbs and encouraging him to stay put. Theul was right, he pushed himself harder than most others would have, and given a chance he probably would have pushed himself even harder— even if the two of them had the unspoken agreement that La’gaan could put all of the blame for his frustration on the old man rather than acknowledging the fact that Theul often pushed him to slow down and think things through. Ever since the incident with the purists he’d been determined to be the best, and he was fortunate that Theul was more than willing to help him get there. Not bad for an orphan from the outer provinces with an unknown past.

Finally he pushed himself up, trying to ignore the protests of his body, and pushed himself up away from the arena floor. Food was more than welcome, as his stomach rather bluntly reminded him at that moment. With a mildly annoyed grunt he angled to head in the direction of the Conservatory’s cafeteria. If nothing else, he could at least get some food before retreating to his room. 

It was on the way that he almost bumped into Ronal. La’gaan pulled up short with a small burst of magic to stop his forward drift (done far less gracefully than he would have cared to admit thanks to his current level of exhaustion) and immediately scowled in response to the glare Ronal aimed at him. “Be _careful_ about where you’re _going_,” Ronal snapped with a veneer of politeness.

This was how it was, how it had been, since the incident. Ronal knew he was under watch to a certain extent (and had likely gotten a severe lecture from the consul magistrate herself about his actions), so he had made an effort to put forward the appearance of being every bit the appropriate son of the consul— polite, diplomatic, and perpetually avoiding anything that might cause any accusations against him to stick. La’gaan didn’t buy it for an instant.

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re near the cafeteria. It’s crowded,” La’gaan retorted with a barely repressed growl.

Ronal gave him a look dripping with disdain. “Not crowded enough to warrant _you_ getting in _my way_.”

La’gaan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Two could play at this game. “Is that a statement about this part of the Conservatory? Or more general?”

Ronal straightened his spine, rage dancing in his eyes that his mask of disinterest did nothing to disguise. “What’s this? Trying to talk like you’re from Poseidonis and meant to be among the nobility? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Funny how you keep saying things like that and no one who matters cares what you think about me.” La’gaan had to be careful, he knew that, but damned if he’d let the shark-bait’s current sweep aside his own.

Ronal very clearly wanted to lash out in that moment, to make things physical and force La’gaan to duck his head and get out of his way. He couldn’t afford a physical fight and he knew it— both due to their track record and because a fight in a place that crowded would be impossible to miss. So instead he leaned in close as he said in a low toned sneer, “This thing of you being here? It isn’t going to last. So save yourself the embarrassment and start looking for something more fitting now.”

Clearly Ronal had learned nothing in the years they’d known each other. Exhausted from his training or no, there was no way in all the deeps he was going to let this slide. No, instead every last ounce of spite rose up in his mind and gave him the perfect response. With a smile that might have been taken as polite by anyone who didn’t really know him, La’gaan cheerfully said, “You know what? You’re right. I’ve been setting my sights too low. Why stick with just trying to be one of the Royal Guard? Why not… oh… I dunno… one of the personal guards of the royal family?”

The hagfish-sucking waste-of-space froze, his eyes widening slightly in time with his jaw clenching in rage, barely kept in check by his sharp awareness that he couldn’t afford to have others think the pardon for his past actions had been misplaced. But his outrage was _so_ damned satisfying for La’gaan to see.

La’gaan’s smile shifted into a— still seemingly polite— satisfied grin. “Good try for trying to give me a heads-up on rough waters, but I think I’ve got this. Can’t get anything done if I just go belly-up, you know? And anyone trying to drive me off… Well, they’re just gonna have to learn to live with disappointment.”

The struggle in Ronal’s eyes was a sight to see. He was _livid_, but there were too many people around, too many who were starting to pay attention to their interaction and watch warily, and too big a risk if he acted on what he wanted to do.

Finally moving to drift aside so he could get around the purist piece of shark-shit, La’gaan added in an unconcerned tone, “Must be rough for anyone wanting to see me fail though, knowing I’m not going anywhere and that I’ll make sure I stick around longer than they do. Can’t imagine how much sleep they’re losing at night over that. But I’m sure that’s not a problem for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go eat.” The fact that he _deliberately_ used the Poseidonis dialect only made his point more blatant, and it was punctuated when he turned his back on Ronal and continued on his way. 

There was a risk of retaliation later on if Ronal decided he could get away with it, but to La’gaan’s mind it was entirely worth it just to see that look of rage from the consul’s son.

***

That incident had been satisfying. There was no other way to put it. Having that power, _seeing_ that look of impotent rage on Ronal’s face, _knowing_ the purist piece of hagfish-shit hadn’t been able to do anything about his ‘polite’ mouthing off, had been satisfying beyond words. It had been enough for La’gaan to decided that was how he’d handle interactions with Ronal after that, at least so long as things remained non-physical.

And when he announced to Theul what he wanted to do and with the way he’d pushed himself even harder after that… It shouldn’t have been surprising that Theul turned around and told Queen Mera what his intentions were. It was _beyond_ surprising that after she was told, she approached La’gaan and asked if he’d be interested in learning more about combat magic under her. (Although in retrospect, Queen Mera making that offer shouldn’t have been _that_ surprising. This was the same woman who’d been ready to wage a one-person war to prevent Atlantis tearing itself apart before King Orin took the throne after all.)

So of course he said yes.

He’d alternated between his Conservatory course work, his combat training with Theul, and his combat magic training with the Queen. And when he wasn’t busy studying or training his fins off, he kept close to his friends and frequently got into more banter and debates than he would have imagined possible. (If he never heard Garth utter the words ‘whales’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in the same sentence for the rest of his life he’d be ecstatic. That entire conversation was proof that sharing surface internet culture things with Garth was a mistake. A hilarious one, but a mistake that was probably going to get large numbers of people questioning the sanity of their friend group eventually.)

It had been pleasant. It had been good. Things had been falling into place and he’d had the good fortune of finding out that Aurelius had left everything to him— so on top of everything else he’d been able to reclaim Aurelius’s home in Nanauve, his spell book, _everything_. As heartbreaking as it had been to face some of those memories, at the same time it had been like going home. It had felt like Aurelius had been giving his approval for the path La’gaan was on, one last time. Things had fallen and clicked into place like that had just been how they were supposed to _be_— not unlike the way the first pieces of pearl and abalone shell clicked into place on the spear-hook in his hands once he was satisfied that it was carved, serrated, and sharp just the way he wanted it. 

His successes mounted, and he’d relentlessly proven time and time again that he would just keep getting up and keep trying. He’d had no idea how visible he would become back then, no clue the impact he was making, but he’d become impossible to miss by anyone who paid attention. That was probably part of why, when La’gaan overheard a conversation between Theul and Queen Mera, the old combat instructor gave the suggestion he did.

***

Fourteen may have been on the slightly young side for La’gaan to have decided on his tattoos, but he’d hardly let that stop him any more than anything else up to that point. Well… maybe fourteen wasn’t young to start _thinking_ about it or decide on it, but it was certainly young to _get them_. He’d put a lot of thought into it though; he’d done research, made up his mind, talked out the possible uses for what he’d decided on with Queen Mera, and he had no regrets. That the runes for his shoulders were associated with quarry workers in the outer provinces was a deliberate statement on his part, but no one would know just how deep the meaning behind those runes went if he had any say about it. He’d given his Queen his reasoning behind his choice— at least what he’d been willing to say— and she’d approved it and made certain the tattooist wouldn’t argue.

Which was what had led him to put off everything else to spend the majority of four hours getting worked on.

The tattooist had tried to suggest that they spread it out over a few days (honestly, if they’d had their way it would have been over three weeks), but La’gaan had insisted on getting it all done in one sitting. Because of course he had. Because he was just that damned stubborn. Magic-anchoring tattoos were no joke and, according to what he’d heard from those rare few who got both, hurt _worse_ than regular tattoos. Fortunately he’d already planned on and arranged for being non-functional for a while.

“And _done_,” they said as they pulled away after the last touch of the needle.

La’gaan groaned in relief, more than glad that it was finally done.

“You’re going to want to take it easy for a while, and _no_ magic use for _at least_ a week.”

La’gaan didn’t even have to look to know they were giving him a warning look. He’d had looks like that from Lori aimed at him enough times to _know_ when someone was giving him _that look_. “I don’t think I’m gonna wanna _move_ for at least a week.”

“With as rushed as you wanted this, ideally you shouldn’t move for a _month_, but based off the stories I’ve heard of you that’s too much to hope for,” the tattooist retorted before turning to set down the needle and begin the process of magically cleansing their tools. “Now, off with you. I don’t want to hear a word about you trying to use magic for the next week and doing something that would require me to fix anything.”

He laid there stomach down, on the reclining seat that might have been carved rock or coral, for a moment or two longer. He knew the _moment_ he went to move his arms the bone-deep ache in his shoulders and back would probably sharpen into a stabbing pain, but he was also highly aware that if he tried to use a push of magic— even a small one! —he would instantly regret it. “Wasn’t rushed,” he grumbled, “You took the time you needed to.”

They scoffed, almost slamming down one of the ink pots as they did so. “You may have a ridiculously high pain tolerance, but you still have no concept of how unreasonable most people would think it is to cram three weeks’ worth of work into _four hours_. The reason most people with any _sense_ would stretch it out is pain management! Especially for extensive as yours are-”

La’gaan gingerly pushed himself up with a hiss and slid his right leg up and over the carved seat so both his legs were on the same side, turned away from the tattooist. “Does that mean I’m gonna get a lecture from one of the medics after getting hunted down later?” Snarking at the person who had repeatedly stabbed him with a needle for the past four hours probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d done, but the pain was making him a little snippy. He’d get over it.

“I _should_ send one of them after you, for as stubborn and hardheaded as you’re being. Now, out. Damned reckless fool.”

Pushing off so he could drift in the direction of the door was a challenge without using his arms as much as he was used to, but at least he could respect the frustrated request. Still, that didn’t keep him from glancing back at the brown-skinned and green-haired kamala with an attempt at a grin. “So I shouldn’t recommend people to go to you?”

The droll look they aimed at him probably could have made a sheltered noble wither. From one snarly person close to the Queen to another, not so much. “You’re lucky that Her Majesty requested my services for this, that she’s my friend, and that I’ve had experience enough dealing with _her_ nonsense— because you’re every bit as infuriating as she can be! Now get out before I decide to hunt down the head of the Conservatory’s medical program and have _him_ tell you off!”

That was one threat La’gaan didn’t care to put to the test, so he took the warning and left. He’d continued his courses in healing magic and medical care out of practicality (thanks to the various fights he’d been in), so he knew already what lectures from Eugapetus were like and he _really_ did not want to tempt that old man’s wrath. He’d rather deal with Theul knocking him flat on his ass fifty times in a row than deal with another scathing lecture from the head of the Conservatory’s medical department. At least La’gaan knew Eugapetus’s temper and sarcasm had nothing to do with La’gaan being a kisegra (Lori had become the darling of the medical department by that point because she had so heavily put her focus into the medical courses offered by the Conservatory _and she was good at it_), but everything to do with being irritated when one of his students knew better yet went ahead and did something stupid anyway. And this? Cramming three weeks’ worth of tattooing into four hours? Not to mention _magic-anchoring_ tattooing at that, in that time frame? It would definitely count as a stupid decision in Eugapetus’s estimation.

Which was also why La’gaan had made a believable excuse to let him dodge his medical classes for a week or two.

Still, he made up his mind to track down Queen Mera to show her the end result of the work he’d had done. She _was_ the one who had requested that specific tattooist’s services and had discretely covered the costs after all, so it only seemed reasonable to him to let her be the first to see the end result. That it would, hopefully, head off any possible lectures from her about his impatience— especially with the quality of work having been flawless— was simply a bonus. And maybe the Queen would be willing to support the pile of half-lies and excuses he’d used to paddle around having to go to some of his classes while he healed. Maybe.

La’gaan took care to stick to the back halls that generally saw less traffic as he made his way from the side-building and into the Conservatory proper on his way to Queen Mera’s office. It was more of a roundabout way of getting there, but it kept anyone from taking notice of him or the fact that he was trying to avoid using his arms— not to mention that it meant avoiding the embarrassment of having someone see his repeated near-collisions with the walls as he went. After about the fifth time he’d kept from crashing into a wall by using a foot to push himself away from it, he felt extremely glad Garth wasn’t around or he’d probably have been hearing jokes comparing him to a sunfish by that point. The very thought made him wince.

Finally, after too long, he drew close to the large ornate double doors of Queen Mera’s office, one of which was ajar. She was clearly inside, which was an immense relief since it meant he didn’t have to go looking elsewhere, but just as he was about to aim for the open door, he heard another voice inside— Theul.

Maybe it was because he was already tired on top of being sore, or maybe it was because he knew that retreating to his room would have been just as time-consuming as getting there so it was easier to stay put and wait, or maybe even both— but whatever it was, he changed direction to come to a stop next to the door and out of sight. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop, he really didn’t! But his curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t help but hear what they were saying anyway.

“-shows a great deal of promise,” Theul said emphatically, though he was keeping his voice low. “He never misses practice, applies himself consistently, keeps pushing himself harder than likely _anyone_ I’ve taught… I daresay he might even be as stubborn as you.”

Queen Mera made an amused sound, something that might have been described as a brief laugh if only just, but her genuine warmth was unmistakable. “I think you may be right.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he has every intent to be as skilled as I am by the time he hits 40— _and that he might be one of the few to pull it off_.”

“Without burning himself out by going for too much too soon?” Her tone was almost coy, a veiled taunt that she knew what the old man might be hinting at but was almost challenging him in her efforts to coax him into saying it outright.

“He may be stubborn, hardheaded, and prone to pushing himself entirely too hard, but he also knows his limits,” Theul said with certainty. “Mera… You’ve listened to my advice thus far, and we’ve had plenty of discussions to keep the various streams of his pursuits flowing together smoothly to keep him from battling the current until he’s dead in the water from exhaustion. I may be out of line and presumptuous for saying this, but I think we both know he could do better than just a guard.”

There was a beat of silence and La’gaan held his breath, his fins trembling as if they couldn’t make up their mind to slick down in worry or perk up in interest. Queen Mera’s noncommittal “Oh?” didn’t help matters.

“…” Theul breathed out a gusty sigh, deciding to push propriety further to finally say outright what was on his mind. “Mera, I think he is good enough to become protégé to either you or your husband. La’gaan has skill and determination enough, along with a good heart, that I _know_ he will do you proud. He just has to be given the chance.”

La’gaan’s eyes went wide as he was hit with slack-jawed disbelief. Theul. Was recommending. _Him._ To be the protégé of either the Queen or King? _Him?_ A kisegra?! Not even a kamala, not even a non-kamala kisegra from the inner provinces, not even someone with a known family— _HIM?!_ He was an orphan! He was from the outer provinces, his past was a mystery, he was a complete unknown from an unknown background with an unknown family and an equally confusing connection to a well-meaning but rogue magic-user who might as well have fallen into the depths when he ‘disappeared’ into Nanauve up until he’d died, and Theul was suggesting _**HIM?**_ Being protégé to one or both of them would take him beyond being a personal guard for any of them, it would remove him from any consideration of status as a noble or commoner, and would put him as close to the royal family as he could get without being adopted outright— far away from and beyond anything he’d ever conceived as possible and the sort of thing people like him were discouraged from even dreaming about so as to avoid disappointment. And yet Theul had suggested _him_. He felt like his heart might as well have stopped.

And then Queen Mera spoke.

“If I were anyone but the ‘Rebel Queen’ this conversation would have ended badly.”

“I know. But I wouldn’t have started this conversation if you weren’t, and you have a history of putting what is right _before_ what is ‘proper’.”

Another moment of silence, and then, “True enough. And the point is made. I will think it over. Thank you for your counsel Theul.” She sounded… pleased. As if Theul had just confirmed for her something that she had already been thinking.

And La’gaan…

La’gaan was ready to explode in pure unrestrained _glee_. Carefully bracing his feet against the wall, he shoved off and darted away as fast as he dared. Yes, that meant he’d have to find Queen Mera later to show her the tattoos— and yes, he knew that meant the tattooist was likely to find her and tell her what he’d insisted on first— but with how much he wanted to bounce off the walls and rocket around while squawking in incomprehensible _joy_, he had to go take the time to collect himself so that whenever the subject was brought up to him (if it was any time soon) he’d be able to stay reasonably calm. And not start darting around or talking a mile a minute without taking the time to breathe like an excitable guppy. Or making a fool of himself. Even if part of him really didn’t want to care.

He managed to keep it contained until he got into his room and the door was closed. And then, without even caring how much his shoulders and back ached, he laughed— without restraint, without any hesitation, just complete disbelievingly giddy _happiness_. What did it matter if he was in pain and was going to be sore while he healed? What did it matter if he might not be able to properly use his arms for a week or more? He knew he was being considered for something he had never even dared _dream of_, and that was worth more than anything.

***

He’d worked hard, proved he had skill, proved he was reliable, proved he was creative and adaptable, and it had all paid off. La’gaan had gotten recognition beyond what he’d expected— beyond what he’d thought he’d been capable of! —and the fact that it had all put him closer to a Queen and King who had _earned_ every last ounce of respect he had for them had given him such satisfaction he almost hadn’t known what to do with himself. He wasn’t supposed to know about the opportunity he was being considered for, not before the offer was made, and admitting he’d eavesdropped, even on accident, was something he felt was better to avoid acknowledging. In those days he’d had his doubts that the offer would even be made; there were a lot of things in connection with who and what he was that could easily have made viable excuses for why he shouldn’t have been given the position. It had been enough to know the recommendation was made. It had been enough.

Queen Mera had been both exasperated with the impatience he’d had for completing his tattoos and impressed at his pain tolerance when she found out, but after he’d explained himself— the sooner it was done, the sooner he’d be healed without another session waiting upstream for him— she admitted that she understood his reasoning. She hadn’t agreed with it, but she understood it. A brief lecture, a warning that once he healed and was clear to use magic again that she was going to push him harder than before for having incapacitated himself for at least a week-and-a-half physically and three weeks magically, and then it had been done and over with. Simple. And she _could_ have made him regret it in that moment, but she hadn’t. By unspoken agreement she saved it all for their training when it continued, which he didn’t mind because it meant he hadn’t disappointed her or lost any of her respect.

Lori, on the other hand, had called him an idiot. Repeatedly. For three or four days. Usually when she was bringing him the coursework he was falling behind in while he stayed in his room to recover. Between her, Blubber, and Topo, they made sure he didn’t go without food while his efforts to move around were still too embarrassingly awkward for him to be in public. (Lori had said several times he was being ridiculous about his inability to steer well without his pain flaring to life, insisting no one was going to mock him for moving carefully or occasionally bumping into things when his tattoos were obviously fresh, but he had cheerfully told her under no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going anywhere until he could comfortably use his arms.) She had even been tempted to tell Eugapetus, but La’gaan managed to convince her to let it be (somehow). After all, it wasn’t as if he’d be able to hide the tattoos when he finally came out of hiding.

And when he _did_ come out again, when he felt he could move reasonably well, it was to the repeated shocked looks that his tattoos were so extensive and were in roughly similar stages of healing. Everyone who put any thought into it knew what that had to mean, that he’d gotten it all done on one day. That it was just one more detail quickly woven into his reputation escaped his notice. Nothing could deter him, nothing could stop him; and once healed he was back on his efforts to improve his skills with his typical stubborn persistence. Even though he’d doubted the offer would ever come, even if the suggestion that he _could_ be protégé to either the Queen or King had been enough, he’d sought to prove himself worthy of it.

There had been no uncertainty that whatever position he ended up with after he graduated, he was going to end up working closely with the royal family of Poseidonis. Few got to have independent lessons with Queen Mera; Garth, Kaldur, and Tula were all among that number, and so was La’gaan. With that confirmation, it wasn’t surprising when rumors started circulating which guessed accurately at the offer that had yet to be extended at that time. La’gaan hadn’t heard the rumors, hadn’t paid any mind to them. What reason did he have to care about others’ wild theories and ‘might-have-been’s?

Looking back on it now, he couldn’t help wondering… If he’d been more cautious, more aware… If he hadn’t let his happiness keep him from seeing the warning signs… Would he have noticed the unrest? The increasing number of glares in his direction from various ‘pure’ students? The increasing number of glares from Ronal? He’d been so proud of himself, so bright and vibrant, unstoppable, _unbreakable_… He’d felt ready to take on the world.

Red eyes stared at the spear-hook in claw-bearing green webbed hands. The serrated points were sharp, the blade edge opposite was sharp, the curling hook in the center could deal a great deal of damage if any flesh caught in the gaps… It was a hunting tool, a weapon, brutal in its efficiency, made even more brutal by the unconventional serrated edge he’d given it, and yet with all the decorative pearl and abalone inlays it was startlingly beautiful as well. If someone had never seen a spear-hook in use it might have been taken as an art piece, especially with the swirling tracks and patterns of shell and dots of pearl he’d added to this one. With the right spells to harden it, it could kill quickly and efficiently or violently, all without snapping or losing a single pearl the moment it entered a body. It could have been so easy… but he didn’t reach for his magic just yet. Red eyes skimmed over the spear-hook, looking for flaws and errors as he rotated it in his hands and thought.

***

La’gaan had had many bad days in his life, had lived through terrible things he wouldn’t wish on anyone— he could be harsh and violent when the situation warranted it, yes, but that didn’t mean he’d ever wanted anyone to truly _suffer_— but one day in particular when he’d been 15 was high up on the list. Seeing his father die in front of him when he was 4 was up there. Nearly dying of ekstassa when he was little had been horrible, waking up to realize he’d been abandoned still clawed at his mind some nights, the night he went home to Aurelius only to find him dead with his throat slit was something that still gave him nightmares, the year he’d been trapped by Galeo as one of his various child-thieves with its perpetual threats of starvation and physical abuse… the way it had led to his attempt to escape only to end in Galeo’s death and his own near-brush with death again… the realization of what he’d done when he woke, the cloying phantom taste of blood on his tongue, the feeling of pouring every last ounce of _hate_ and his desire to have Galeo just _die_ even if it took La’gaan along with him… Those were the things that made up his nightmares, that he’d fought for years to purge from his mind, that he’d worked so hard to leave behind in the past because _he didn’t want to become the person Galeo’s death seemed to point him toward._

He’d known what he was capable of, and La’gaan had fled from it with everything he had in him. He wanted to be the person Aurelius had seen in him, he wanted to be a person worth caring about, someone who could love and be loved by others in turn, someone who could protect others and be protected in turn, someone who others would mourn if he died, instead of just a random kisegra corpse left in the street without any more attention given than he had been back as a six-year-old dying of ekstassa in a back alley in Nanauve. That was what he’d _wanted_… 

But on that night when he was only fifteen, he’d felt every last ounce of the same burning rage he’d felt when he killed Galeo.

A group of purists had lain in wait for him. It had to have been pre-planned, there were twelve or fifteen there, maybe more, he didn’t know. But when La’gaan had gone from making his way back to the Conservatory to suddenly being attacked and surrounded, he came to the swift realization he was probably going to die— and was hit with an immediate wall of _rage_. He’d been out on a trip to help Topo and his family reorganize their home in preparation for the future addition of Topo’s yet-to-be-born younger sibling, he’d been excited for them, but with the attack he immediately realized that he probably would never meet the guppy and having done the heavy lifting for their family was the only gift he was ever going to be able to give.

He was going to die.

And he was going to take down every hagfish-sucking purist piece of shit with him that he could, even if it meant burning himself out magically. Because fuck the costs to himself if he was going to die anyway.

Water churned, ribbons of blood tore out into the water, and he screamed in rage as he poured every last ounce of training he had into trying to take down as many of them as possible. He might have been successful if they hadn’t been watching him over the years, taking notes over the past failures Ronal and his ‘friends’ had had in fights against him, learning his habits and figuring out that one-on-one would always be a disaster on their end— but they _had_ been watching. They _had_ been learning. And so they swarmed him, making it impossible for him to get any single one of them out of commission without another attacking him or getting in the way.

“Hold him!”

“I’m _trying!_”

“Don’t let him- SHIT! Watch the claws!”

“_Get his damned arms already!_”

There _were_ more. More than the fifteen or so he’d initially seen. So many. He struggled, he clawed, he bit, he kicked, and to his horror as much as he tried to reach for that raw explosive wave of magic he’d used when he was younger, he found himself coming up empty. _Nothing._ Maybe it was some small part of him determined to live and refusing to spend his life or reach further— because he _knew_ if he reached for the nearest ley line or magic node and let go he could easily die in an instant, and spending the entirety his personal store of magic would have the same effect— but it kept him from repeating what he’d done in the past. Even so, he wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. He _refused_ to let them see his fear. If they were going to kill him, he’d make sure they regretted every second of it. “I’LL FEED YOU TO THE SHARKS, YOU BA’ATHU-KEGEST PIECES OF HAGFISH-SHIT!”

He successfully wrenched an arm free to punch one purist in the jaw, prompting a crack across the face with the butt of a spear that left La’gaan tasting blood as one of the other purists spat, “Damned _fish-head!_”

Ignoring the pain, he snarled, “Go fuck a sunfish.” The punch to his gut was unsurprising and left him winded, but La’gaan felt it was entirely worth it.

And then he heard _that laugh_, the one that would haunt him for years to come. Ronal’s laugh and Ronal’s sneer after the others had finally gotten a firm grip on his arms and legs, keeping him in place so he couldn’t go anywhere. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

A vicious, contemptuous grin crept onto La’gaan’s face. “What’s the matter Ronal?” he rasped, trying to ignore his difficulty breathing, “Can’t face me one-on-one, so you bring fifty minnows to help? _Pathetic_.”

That now familiar look of rage flared to life in Ronal’s eyes, and when he spoke his tone was cold. “Hold him.”

“We should put it on his damned forehead.”

“If _you_ want to risk getting near his teeth, you’re more than welcome to!” one of the other purists snapped.

“No. Get his leg. This is _personal_,” Ronal ordered.

That was when it clicked, when La’gaan knew they weren’t just going to kill him. No, they were going to do something far worse. He bucked and fought and screamed as they pulled his left leg out straight, as they held him tight, as he tried to kick with his right only to get a punch to the temple that left his vision blurry and his head spinning.

And then there was the burn as the first letter for _that word_ was seared into his ankle.

***

La’gaan slammed down the spear-hook on his work table and shoved his chair back from it with a ragged breath, old rage boiling under the surface. He was shaking with the effort to keep it contained, to try to fight it back down, trying to convince himself not to go through with hardening the spear-hook, not to take it with him on the mission, not to _‘accidentally’_ let it find its way into Ronal’s back.

No. He knew what he had to do. There was no choice. Fuck everything.

He got up and stormed out of his room, roaming around the halls until he found Kaldur. When La’gaan finally found him inspecting the supplies that would eventually go on the bio-ship, he said gruffly, “Kaldur. We need to talk.”

Kaldur looked up with a frown. Over the years he’d gotten to know La’gaan, he had come to recognize when the other kisegra was deadly serious. It was a rare state for him, rarer than most others realized, but when La’gaan _was_ in that state it was always wise to listen. “La’gaan. What is the matter?”

La’gaan’s fins flicked back for a moment— his ears included (which made his agitation that much more obvious)— before he said it outright. “I can’t be on this mission. I need to be off it.”

Whatever Kaldur had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “You are one of the few who is equipped to handle this mission-” he started, hoping La’gaan might see reason.

“_Ahr_,” La’gaan said firmly. His ‘no’ couldn’t have gotten any sharper. “I mean it. I _cannot_ be on this mission. Not if there’s going to be any success.”

Kaldur’s frown deepened. “My friend, it is not like you to doubt yourself. Why do you think you need to not be involved?”

La’gaan’s lips were thin, his fins bristling, and his jaw clenched. It was only with extreme difficulty that he was keeping his hands from curling into fists. When he spoke, he fought to keep his tone as flat and even as he could, but the strain was obvious. “Because, if the bastards holding those people hostage don’t kill that son of a deep-beast Ronal, _then I just might kill him myself_.”

Silence stretched between them for a long minute or two. Whatever else Kaldur had known of La’gaan, even with all the fights over the years and how loud or violent he could be when provoked, he had never seen that lethal certainty from La’gaan. There was no doubt that La’gaan could and _might_ follow through on his threat to Ronal’s life— and true to who La’gaan was and had fought to become, he was choosing to take himself out of the equation so he wouldn’t do something he felt he shouldn’t.

Kaldur let out a slow heavy sigh, knowing he’d have to rethink things and not looking forward to it, but he could at least respect that the mission was asking too much of the younger atlantean. “Very well. You are dismissed from the mission. I do not know how this will sit with our King or Queen…”

La’gaan tried to give a reassuring smile, though the result was a weak one. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it when I contact them. They can decide what they want to do with me, if anything.”

Kaldur nodded and let his friend go. These were unknown waters that La’gaan was swimming into, and as he watched the other head back the direction he’d come, he could only hope that it wouldn’t backfire. Of the three protégés to Orin and Mera left— himself, La’gaan, and A’lansha— La’gaan had the most to lose.

***

Lori and Blubber were the ones who found La’gaan after the attack, and they were the ones who had carefully helped him back to his room after Lori helped cover the burns on the inside of his left ankle with a strip of seaweed handed to her by Blubber. They were the ones to see him bloody, bruised, shaken, and screaming, “_DON’T LOOK AT IT!_” They were the ones who saw him shut down, withdrawn, refusing to leave his room, refusing to go to the infirmary and have it looked after, refusing to let anyone else in, almost refusing to _speak_ as he walled everyone but the two of them out. They were the ones who saw him broken.

They were his closest friends, the closest he had to family, but if it hadn’t been for their stubborn insistence on checking in on him to make sure he slept and ate and his wounds didn’t become infected, he might have walled them out too. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part, he shut down more attempts to reason him into getting medical attention or going back to class than he cared to admit (several times their efforts ended with him screaming at them to get out), but they stayed. They stayed and kept coming back, carefully warding away others and the rest of their friends with the believable excuse that he was sick and hadn’t been feeling well. And while he hadn’t said a single word of the thoughts racing through his mind— that he was pathetic, that he was an ugly and impure piece of shit, that if he hadn’t been such a fucking coward he would have let himself tap into a magic node and thrown all control to the ocean currents to let himself be taken out while taking every single one of those purist bastards down with him— Lori and Blubber both had had a vague idea of the turn his mind had taken.

If he’d been in less pain and able to move around better, he would have left. Left, and who knew if he would have ever bothered coming back. He didn’t even know where he’d been planning to go _to_, but the pain screaming in his body made it impossible for him to get around without help. So he stayed. He stayed, and hated himself, and tore himself apart mentally while Lori and Blubber patiently stayed with him and tried to help him with his nightmares during the nights he woke up screaming. He stayed and they stayed until the day something changed.

Another night, another nightmare, dreaming of that damned night again and again and again- and it suddenly stopped. And just as suddenly he was in his father’s arms. Just him being there and the realization that it was _him_ was enough to make La’gaan break down. He cried and apologized, holding tight, apologizing for his father’s death, for having unintentionally distracted him long enough for him to get shot in the back, for having been so weak his mother left him, for not having been there when Aurelius died, for being a coward, for all of it— but Kai’s gentle words slowed the flood of his apologies. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re brave, strong, and have a good heart. You’ve done everything you ever needed to, and you keep on making me proud every day. How can I _not_ be proud of you?”

Another warm presence settled next to his father, wrapping La’gaan in a sense of safety and the knowledge that he was wanted. “He’s right, Little One. You’ve done us both proud,” Aurelius said, his hand resting on La’gaan’s head the same way he used to when holding him after a bad night. 

La’gaan couldn’t see him since he had his face buried against his father’s chest, but the warmth and that familiar source of comfort were unmistakably Aurelius all the same. That it wasn’t just one, but _both_ of them, there made him break down anew. It burned and it hurt, and they held him through it all, until he finally began to feel clean again. 

And when his tears were spent and he felt he could breathe, Aurelius murmured, “Neither of us have ever been disappointed in you, so please don’t think we have been. You are worth more than you know, and we will _always_ love you. We will _always_ be proud of you.”

“And you keep on doing us proud. Trust us Shrimp, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. You just have to pick yourself up again, and I know you know to do that. So don’t give up. Okay?” At La’gaan’s shaky nod, Kai kissed his forehead and gave one last reassuringly tight hug. If La’gaan could have stayed there forever, he would have. But his father and Aurelius had made their point. “Okay. I love you, we both do, and always will. And as much as I’d like to keep you a little longer, it’s time to wake up.”

La’gaan shot into wakefulness with a gasp to find he’d been crying in his sleep, judging by how puffy his eyes felt. When he rubbed at his eyes to dissipate the feeling, he heard a quiet, “La’gaan, are you okay?” from Blubber. He had to have settled in the room while La’gaan was sleeping, like he and Lori had been for days now in case he had another screaming nightmare, though they’d routinely traded off. Apparently it had been Blubber’s turn.

La’gaan swallowed thickly and pulled his hands away from his eyes so he could look at his friend (who happened to be seated on the floor with open books and coursework around him). “I think… I think I need to go to the infirmary.” If Blubber lit up with a relieved smile, then La’gaan pretended not to notice. The two of them could pretend there had been no reason for anyone to worry, because they finally knew La’gaan was going to be okay.

***

When he was in his room La’gaan made the call, was relieved when it was Mera who answered, and he told her. There was little point in holding back, so he didn’t. “My Queen, I have to apologize. I had to excuse myself from the mission to deal with the hostage situation.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she regarded him. There were worlds of possibilities that rested entirely on how she responded, and while La’gaan knew that some of those possibilities could end poorly for him, he still trusted she would make the best decision available to her. She had earned that trust and loyalty from him as few could, and he wasn’t about to stop trusting her now. Finally, after a long moment, she said evenly, “I trust you have a viable reason for refusing to be involved?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Being?”

He couldn’t quite control his ragged breath before he quietly admitted, “My personal feelings could have jeopardized the mission. And you don’t need the blood of the consul magistrate’s son on the hands of your protégé.” 

There it was, the confession of borderline treason, the confession that he had come dangerously close to killing someone of importance from a family with a long line of history that likely could be traced back to before The Fall. The very same sort of confession that could have confirmed his status as her protégé was a disastrous mistake because he was a no-name non-kamala kisegra of the outer provinces with no family, no home, no past, with a history as clear as a cloud of silt— the only hint of his background being that he was somehow the heir of a rogue magic-user who was questionable enough to have buried his past at some point— and who dared to publicly accept a position many felt was above him. That status was cause enough for many to question his right to his position as it was, but his confession could easily have been all it would have taken for most of Atlantis to demand that he lose his position. For many, it would have been confirmation that he and everyone like him were too dangerous to be allowed any position of power. But he trusted her, and he would abide by Queen Mera’s decision.

Again that measuring look, a beat or two of silence during which he had a feeling she suddenly understood more than he’d ever let on, and then Queen Mera proved she was still every bit the Rebel Queen she had been before joining Orin on the throne of Poseidonis— the same Queen he had come to know since she picked up his unconscious, magically drained, and dangerously burnt out body on the streets of Nanauve a little over eight years ago. “La’gaan, it’s good that you told me rather than Orin.” In other words, while she loved her husband, she knew there were still some Atlantean social nuances he might not understand yet, being that he was half-surfacer and had been raised on the surface. “I understand your reasoning and respect it, and we will forget this was a problem ever worth noticing. I am proud of you for recognizing your limits and choosing _not_ to break yourself to get past them.”

“Yes, my Queen.” It was as if he could suddenly breathe again after having almost forgotten how.

Her smile was fond and sympathetic as she said, “Rest well La’gaan. The coming days may be emotionally draining for us all.”

A smile of his own met hers in answer, worn and relieved. “Thank you, my Queen. Rest well.” And with that, they each signed off.

He was excused, he no longer had to worry about possible accusations of treason, and all there was left to do was wait to find out how the mission would end.

So he waited. Days passed. He waited, routinely kept in contact with Queen Mera while coordinating information exchanges long-distance with Blubber and Lori, kept busy, and didn’t leave the team’s base for the duration.

And when those who had gone came back— worn, weary, and subdued— he was nearby. Near enough to hear the muted conversation as they trudged by on their way to give their reports. Near enough to hear Cassie say, “We weren’t fast enough.”

Near enough to hear Kaldur’s equally quiet, “It was not your fault.”

Near enough to hear Cassie’s next comment, heated and guilty and uncertain _what_ to feel as it was. “Maybe not, but the consul magistrate’s son is still _dead_. I still saw him get _gutted_ in front of me! I- we failed.”

“We saved most of the hostages,” Kaldur corrected, gently squeezing her shoulder as they walked past La’gaan. “We cannot save everyone, but we tried. That has to be enough.”

And for all that La’gaan sympathized with her, with all of them, that did nothing to stem the tide of sudden relief that washed over him. They had tried, and it had to be enough for them. Just like knowing Ronal was finally _gone_ was enough for him, because explaining that Ronal had still been a purist and how La’gaan had _known_ that fact could never be an option. He was gone. It was enough.

***

It took some time to recover, for La’gaan to steady himself and be ready to move on, but eventually he was able to. The ankle-pouch he took to wearing soon after his trip to the infirmary almost never came off, keeping his deepest shame and one of his worst memories hidden from view. He picked himself up like he always had before, and he would keep going as he had been— unstoppable as ever.

So when the offer finally came, the offer he had never truly expected, to be protégé to Queen Mera and King Orin, he accepted. And just like the other three before him, it meant an elaborate ceremony to officially announce it. The day of the ceremony to officially title La’gaan as a protégé of his King and Queen, there was a lot swimming through his mind. He barely paid attention to the crowds, the throngs of people muttering, their approval or contempt wafting in the current past him unheeded. The brightly lit interior of the palace was decorated in a dazzling display, emphasizing the formality of the event, outwardly showing the approval the royal family was giving him in direct opposition to the subtle (and often not-so-subtle) scowls aimed his direction. It was barely a foot note in his attention. He wasn’t even paying attention to the tables and tables and _tables_ of food— some varieties he’d never even seen in his life and far beyond anything he would have imagined— that were laid out with a precision that felt unreal. 

No, instead he was focused on staying close to his Queen and listening to her quiet explanation of how the ceremony would go for what must have been the tenth time; something he was grateful for since it steadied his nerves. There were too many things to think about, too many possible ways things could go wrong, and always the possibility that he’d freeze. That he’d prove right everyone who disapproved of what was going to happen. That when faced with the crowd even his sense that he deserved just as much respect as any of them might crack. 

But Mera’s words, her comment, “Remember to breathe, you’ll be fine. You’ve come through worse before,” was reassuring. Calming. “You’ve fought before. This is no different.” And she was right. She was right… even if common sense might have dictated that she shouldn’t encourage him.

It helped, having the others there. Lori, Blubber, and Topo might not have been able to get close for long (though the opportunity would come when the ceremony was complete), but at least Kaldur, Garth, and Tula didn’t have to observe propriety by keeping at a distance. They’d been through it before, even if there hadn’t been quite the same level of hostility from some people.

“It will be fine,” Kaldur had said with a reassuring smile at one point, “When this is done, we will celebrate.”

That had been helpful in its way, but Garth’s snark at a later point put him at ease. “Welcome to the not-quite-royal club. Congratulations, you’re now a target like we are if you decide to set up attempts on our lives by implying we’re royalty.”

La’gaan scoffed and retorted, “A’lansha, were you even _trying_ to help? Because that’s not helping. That’s the opposite of helping.”

Garth looped an arm around his shoulders, probably so he was close enough to speak without being overheard by anyone else, but also just as likely to be driven by wanting to see the restrained fuming of Ronal and those like him. “Just remember, all the people who look like their heads are going to explode when they see you? Imagine them getting selectively eaten by a shark,” Garth said with a wink. Maybe he was enjoying a little too much how some people were squirming. Leave it to Garth to give some very kisegra-like snark to help calm him in a formal situation. (La’gaan swore to himself that one of these days he was going to finally find out if Garth had any kisegra relatives or not.) “Or several!”

And later still there had been Tula, smiling and agreeing with their Queen. “You’ve got this. Like you always do.”

And when Mera told him it was time, he was ready.

He began that long trip as he had to, at the end of the ancient walkway leading up to the double thrones Queen Mera and King Orin stood in front of with the protégés placed beside and a little behind them— Garth and Kaldur to Orin’s right, Tula to Mera’s left— all of them more formally dressed than him. La’gaan _could_ have made an attempt to be more dressed up, but his choice to go with what he almost always did was as much a statement about how he prioritized being able to fight without distraction when called for as it was about where he’d come from.

The nothing.  
The orphan.  
The kisegra from the outer provinces.  
The one with no parents, no family, and no past before he started attending the Conservatory.  
The heir to a man with a history as murky and uncertain as his own, a man who might once have been called a traitor. He was nothing, the heir of a nobody who had had the gall to abandon his past, the least deserving by propriety’s standards to gain power with the High Royal family of Atlantis— and yet here he was before them, ready to take it all on. 

It defied all propriety, all logic, and all sense.

And La’gaan… La’gaan didn’t have ‘sense’. He didn’t have the sense to die on the night he watched his father die, he didn’t have the sense to not catch ekstassa, he didn’t have the sense to die in the back alley his mother abandoned him in, he didn’t have the sense to know when to leave the ‘pure’ magic-user who had taken him in, he didn’t have the sense to die in Galeo’s ‘care’, he didn’t have the sense to die while killing Galeo, he didn’t have the sense to leave the Conservatory when so many felt he had no place there, he didn’t have the sense to leave when the purists tried to drive away the kisegra, he didn’t have the sense to leave when the purists specifically targeted _him_— and he hadn’t even had the sense to leave after he’d been branded. La’gaan didn’t have sense, but he’d survived.

And he would keep on surviving. He would survive being the protégé of his King and Queen if he had a single damned thing to say about it, just as he had survived everything else. He was unstoppable, unbreakable, and he was going to prove— ‘nothing’ or not— that no matter what was thrown his way he would _always_ get up again. So when it came time for him to respond to the formal offer, he didn’t hesitate. Looking first his Queen in the eye, then his King, with his head held high he spoke.

“My King, my Queen, it is the greatest honor you’ve given me. Beyond what I have ever expected. And I— La’gaan, Child of Aurelius, and now protégé to Your Royal Majesties— thank you with my deepest gratitude. And I accept.”


End file.
